


which is what you didn't do

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, post 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there is a boy holding his hand and everything will be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	which is what you didn't do

Ian’s in a low.

Mickey puts a chair next to Ian’s side of the bed and sits down. The medication works, for the most part, but Ian still feels really shitty sometimes, still curls the blankets around himself in bed and refuses to get up. Mickey just stays with him when that happens.

He’s not gonna let this fucking thing ruin them. After everything they’ve been through, he’s not.

Ian turns towards Mickey, his eyes closed, and Mickey watches as a small strip of sunlight escapes from behind the window shades and catches Ian’s face. Even like this, Mickey still think he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and  _fuck_ , the fact that he thinks that doesn’t make Mickey sick to his stomach anymore. It’s the truth, and Mickey doesn’t have to hide that.

“How could you love me?” Ian asks, his voice breaking on that stupid word. “I’m all fucked up, Mickey.”

Mickey almost wants to laugh.

He doesn’t think he realized he was in love with Ian until he went away to the army and left a giant fucking hole in Mickey’s head, in his life, in his heart. Looking back, he realizes how stupid he had been. Mickey loved Ian through the thin plexiglass, loved him in the dark calm of the baseball dugout, loved him while fireflies floated around their heads and they lay together in the cool grass, loved him with the cold plastic of the school bleachers at his back, loved him in the middle of an empty street, and under the harsh fluorescent lights of Linda’s store. He had no fucking idea at the time, but it's obvious, now.

“Just do,” Mickey says, because he can’t seem to make the thoughts spinning around his head become words. “Have for a long time.”

“I don’t feel like myself anymore,” Ian admits, quietly. “I don’t think I’m the Ian you fell in love with.”

Ian is the one who taught Mickey to be himself in the first place. And now he’s the one who’s lost. Mickey wants to cry.

“Jesus, Ian,” he says instead. “I didn’t - I didn’t,” he lowers his voice to a whisper because he still has trouble talking about shit like this, but he wants Ian to hear it. “I didn’t fall in love with some idea of you. It’s all of you, dumbass. Fucking everything about you, even the shitty stuff, even when you’re down. Don’t you get that?”

Mickey didn’t understand that for the longest time - that you could love everything about someone. He always thought that you could only love certain parts of a person. His father had loved him, sure, but not the part of him that wanted to touch other boys, to kiss them and hold them and make them laugh. That was just how it was. Mickey could be loved by his family, but only if he kept certain parts hidden. And because Mickey’s life was a fucking tragedy, he had to hide the parts that made him the happiest, made him different than every other fucking thug in this neighborhood, and different would get him killed, because he wanted to hold Ian’s hand and he wasn’t allowed.

He figures Ian might’ve learned something similar growing up. Not about holding hands with boys, but about only showing your family certain sides of yourself, learning that the way your parents loved only went so far.

He wants to show Ian differently, because Ian taught him the truth. He taught Mickey that you could love every inch of a person, even the parts you didn’t understand, even the parts that made you angry or scared or worried.

“You have to know that, Ian.”

Ian nods, slowly, the side of his face brushing the pillow, and Mickey has the urge to reach over and run his fingers through Ian’s hair, but he keeps his hands still at his sides.

“Why are you even here?” he asks. Mickey clenches his fists and he doesn’t let Ian’s words break his heart.

“Because I want to be here for you, you fucking asshole.” Mickey’s voice shakes with the truth. “Because I - because I fucking love you.  _God_. Every single part. You can’t get rid of Mickey Milkovich that easily.”

Ian kinda smiles at that, a quick flash across his face, like lightning. Mickey can’t stop staring. “I know,” Ian says. “You always come back. Like a fuckin’ puppy.” Ian’s voice is louder, happier, and his eyes are open. He looks right back at Mickey, his big dumb face peaceful and open in that way Mickey missed.

“I’m not a puppy,” Mickey groans. “I’m a big, mean Doberman or something. Not a fucking puppy.” (Mickey had read somewhere that Dobermans were badass, but also gentle, and loyal to their families. Not that he was ever gonna fucking admit that to Ian.  _Christ_.)

Ian scoffs at him, obviously not convinced. He drops it, though, and something in his eyes turns hard and afraid, again. Mickey hates watching the light drain out of those stupid green eyes, absolutely hates it.

“Sorry I can’t be myself all the time.” Ian sounds serious, but at least he’s looking Mickey in the eye this time. The words feel like little stabs to Mickey’s heart, because it’s not Ian’s fucking fault, he shouldn’t be apologizing. Mickey doesn’t care about any of that shit and he needs Ian to understand that.

“Please don’t worry about that. Ian. Don’t. Don’t worry about me.” Mickey finally works up the nerve to reach out and touch Ian’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Ian says, leaning into Mickey’s touch. “Fuckin’ good.”

Mickey loves him so goddamn much, is so fucking happy that this is the kid he chose to stay with. He bites his lip to hide his smile. Mickey knows they’ll get through it, he has faith in what-the-fuck-ever that everything will work out alright. It’s kinda funny actually, Mickey Milkovich turning into a fucking optimist, of all things. Ian does weird shit to his brain, makes him see that Mickey’s life isn’t tragic, like he once thought it was.

Mickey figured out he was in love with Ian, and that was probably the scariest thing he’d ever done. That was the hard part. They’ll figure the rest out together.

Ian reaches out with an unsteady hand, his pale fingers creeping across the blanket. Mickey looks down at them and does the only fucking thing he can think off. He takes a hand off his knee and twines it with Ian’s against the white sheets.

There is a boy holding his hand and everything will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> title from _[crush](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/101506-the-blond-boy-in-the-red-trunks-is-holding-your)_ by richard siken


End file.
